Way of the Hero
by CracktheSkye
Summary: Greek demigods tend to live short, brutal, and unhappy lives. Sally Jackson named her son Perseus so that he might get a happy ending. But just in case the name doesn't work...
1. Ms Jackson is a Badass

**Well, my muse has just been refusing to sing the Pokémon theme song, so instead she started singing with a British accent, and now she's started singing in Ancient Greek. This story started kicking around in my head a few weeks back, and, much like Magus et Ensis, it just WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE! Plus, I really like the idea. So I'm just going to write it in the hopes of satisfying the muse. (Considering how obstinate and difficult she's being, I'm pretty sure her name is Thalia). Anyway, I was reading PJO stories, and I thought "Wow, Percy and Co. are pretty badass. But what if we turned it up to eleven?" Sally Jackson always struck me as fiercely protective of her son. So what would happen if she decided to make sure that Percy could defend himself?  
Not sure about what the pairing will be. Ricky did a pretty nice job of setting up Percabeth, but I also like Perlia and Pertemis. So…we'll just have to see.  
Now, just because everyone is more awesome doesn't mean that it will be instantly easier for them. Think of this as being Hardcore Mode.**

**Percy Jackson and the Olympians : ****τρόπο του ήρωα**

* * *

Montauk, Long Island, NY

Twelve Years Ago

The sky was overcast, the same grey color as the ocean that crashed mournfully onto the beach. A man and a woman stood at the edge of the surf. The woman was crying.

"Please, can't you stay? Just for a little bit longer?"

"I'm sorry, Sally. Amphitrite is already beginning to wonder where I've been disappearing to for the last few months. And if Zeus finds out…" The implication went unsaid, but both man and woman tensed when a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. A moment later, the woman gasped, and both of her hands flew to her distended belly.

"He kicked…"

The man with wild black hair smiled, and placed a hand on her stomach as well. "He's going to be a feisty one… What are you going to call him?"

"Perseus…"

"I hope you're not trying to appease my brother…" The man's green eyes were laughing.

"No…He was the only hero with a happy ending."

The man's face grew serious again. "I see. Perseus Jackson. A strong name for a strong child."

Silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of the waves.

"They will come for him. Children of myself and my brothers attract the attention of monsters and gods alike, without fail. When that day comes, send him to Camp Half-Blood. They will train him there. He…he'll be safe."

Her hands tightened protectively around her middle. "No…"

"If you flee to the darkest corners of the earth, Hades will find you. If you journey under the sky, Zeus will see you. And if they find you…they will kill you, and Percy."

At those words, a fury seemed to light in the woman's eyes. "No… I don't care how many gods come after me. Percy is going to live. I'll make sure he lives. Even if I have to fight every monster in Tartarus myself until he is strong enough to stand on his own. My son will live. I swear this on…"

The man lurched forward, alarmed. "Sally, wai– !"

"the River Styx!"

Thunder boomed overhead, and a sense of heaviness made itself felt, as if a great weight had been lowered onto the shoulders of both the man and the woman.

The man's face was stricken. "Do you know what you have done?"

The woman was resolute, the same spark of determination in her eyes. "What is necessary to protect my son."

He sagged. "Very well. If that is what you wish. Sally…I'm…"

The woman cut off her companion with a finger on his lips. "I know what you're going to say. I made this choice myself. There is nothing for you to apologize for."

She embraced him for a long moment, then let go.

"Go."

The man hesitated, taking a half-step towards the waters. "I love you, Sally."

She smiled sadly. "Goodbye, Poseidon."

He smiled back, and a great surge of seawater rushed forward to engulf him. When it faded, the god in mortal form was gone, leaving behind a glinting bronze dagger. With a slightly trembling hand, Sally picked it up. The edge was razor-sharp, and the weapon itself gave an impression of sadness. Engraved on the blade was a name, written in Greek.

"Prostáti̱s," murmured the woman.

Protector.

Her hand clenched around the handle, and she gazed out to sea, a tear falling from her eye.

"Thank you."

Then she turned, and walked away.

* * *

New York City, New York

Present Day

Percy

Percy Jackson sighed as he threw his bag onto his bed, and threw himself down next to it. Even with the door shut, the sound of ESPN and stupidity leaked through. The twelve-year-old "delinquent" flipped a halfhearted bird in the general direction of Gabe's poker game. God, he hated his stepfather.

Glancing around the room, Percy tried to look on the bright side. At least Gabe hadn't done anything to his room. The first time Percy had gone away to boarding school, Gabe had tried to claim Percy's room as his "study" (Despite the fact that Gabe needed a study about as much as a shark needed a snorkel.) But before he could so much as touch the handle, Percy's mom had called Gabe into the next room for a "discussion." Percy wasn't sure what his mom had said, but whatever it was, Gabe avoided Percy's room like the plague, and whenever Sally Jackson picked up a knife in the kitchen, Gabe would leave the room as quickly as possible.

It wasn't the first time Percy's mom had done something like that. When Percy was seven, she had taken him for a walk in Central Park, and they were interrupted by a man holding a knife. Before the man had even had time to ask for Sally's purse, the woman had lashed out and grabbed the hand holding the knife, broken the mugger's elbow and shoulder, and thrown the knife into the nearby woods.

Then she had given the mugger a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, taken Percy by the hand, and walked away.

Percy was of the firm opinion that his mom was the coolest person on the face of the earth.

The sound of the front door opening interrupted Percy's contemplation of the ceiling of his room. Light footsteps padded up the stairs.

"Percy?"

Percy Jackson's day had just gotten infinitely better. His mom had a way of lighting up any room she was in. No matter what mood he was in, talking to his mother made him feel warm and safe and happy.

(So he was a mama's boy. Sue him.)

The door to Percy's room opened, and Sally Jackson stepped in. She was dressed in casual clothes and was sweating ever so slightly. She had, as usual, run back home from her afternoon classes at the mixed martial arts center on Fifth Street. Her bag slung over her back probably had her Sweet on America uniform in it, as she usually went from the morning shift at Grand Central straight to the MMA Center. (His mom could take down a grown man twice her weight in seconds, and she sold candy to children the rest of the day. When she had time in the evenings, she worked on her novel. What has _your_ mom done lately?)

"Hi mom."

She hugged him tightly. "Look at you! You must've grown an inch since I last saw you!"

They sat together on my bed and ate the free (read: lifted) samples of candy she brought from the candy stand whenever Percy came home. He told her about his year since Christmas. For her sake, Percy tried to put a good spin on Yancy Academy. The fights weren't really _that_ bad (Okay, that wasn't so much spin as a blatant lie). He had pretty much lasted until the end of the year (And that was a record). The archery captain had wept when Percy got expelled (Although having a guy throw himself at your feet begging for you to stay was a little disturbing). He had enjoyed himself. (Hah!)

Percy had almost convinced _himself_ that he had enjoyed himself, when he got to the trip to the museum…

"Percy? Is something wrong?"

Percy swore in his head. Sometimes he thought that his mother could read his mind. "Nothing, Mom."

She didn't believe him, he could tell, but she didn't push.

"Got a surprise for you," she said, deftly changing the subject. "We're going to Montauk."

Percy's eyes lit up. "The cabin?"

She nodded. "Just give me enough time to pack my bag and…convince Gabe to let us go."

Her son nodded, already moving to grab clothes from his dresser. They hadn't gone to Montauk for the past two years, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money (Why they didn't have enough money for a drive out to a cabin that cost maybe $50 a day for was beyond Percy, but for some reason, his mother hadn't argued the point).

In less than an hour, they were ready to go, and Percy was loading his and his mom's bag into the back of Gabe's Camaro, while the slime himself griped about losing his car for the weekend.

Then Sally walked out the door, and Gabe shut up.

Percy shut the trunk, and Sally got in the driver's seat. Gabe took the opportunity to leer menacingly at Percy.

It didn't look very menacing.

"Not one scratch, brain boy."

As he walked back to the stairs, Percy made the same gesture for warding off evil that Grover had. A three-clawed gesture over his heart, and a thrusting motion away from him. The screen door slammed shut, smacking Gabe in his butt and knocking him into the stairs.

Percy didn't stay long enough to see Gabe's reaction. He jumped in the car and told his mom to step on it.

She did.

The report of a '78 Camaro going thirty over the speed limit leaving Queens had nothing to do with them.

* * *

As they got closer to Montauk, Sally seemed to shed ten years from her frame. She sat straighter, her smile was wider, and her eyes sparkled like the ocean.

Percy knew why his mother loved Montauk. It was where she had met his dad. They had only had a summer together at the cabin before he had been lost in a storm at sea, but Percy had a strong memory of…something. A warm glow and a smile, but nothing more.

They got to the cabin late in the afternoon, opened all the windows and shook sand out of the sheets. Then came Percy's favorite (and least favorite) part of visiting Montauk.

Training Review.

Since Percy had been coordinated enough to not hurt himself, his mother had trained him. She had beaten (literally) fighting into him. She mixed jiujitsu and kung fu with capoeira and Muay Thai. She seemed determined that Percy would not only be as good at fighting as she was, but _better._ Oddly enough, Percy took to the lessons like a fish to water. The physical, fast-moving style that seemed to result was fantastic when combined with his ADHD. When his mother decided that she would add weapons to the menu a year after they started, Percy thought she was crazy. How likely was it that he would be swinging a sword around in a street fight? But when she put the double-edged practice sword in his hand, it felt like he had been born to use it. The sword became an extension of his arm, to the point that not even she could touch him when he was using it. Knives and spears were a close second.

Archery, on the other hand, Percy had been absolutely awful at, to the point where he couldn't hit the target ten yards away on a clear day with no wind.

But Sally had refused to let him stop. She made him drill with bow and arrows again and again and again and again and again and again until his shoulders screamed and his fingers were nearly bleeding. But it paid off. Although he still preferred the sword, Percy could shoot bulls-eyes at nearly sixty yards. In his opinion, the greatest satisfaction came with the glowing smile she treated him with when he put ten in a row into bulls-eyes.

Sally and Percy faced each other on the beach. Sally was waiting in a traditional ready stance, hands up, with her left foot forward. Percy, on the other hand, was shuffling back and forth in _ginga_. His mother was incredibly fast, so he needed every starting advantage he could get.

Then, Sally darted forward with a rapid shuffle, her left leg shooting up in a testing kick. Percy fell backward onto all fours, then pushed with his arms, lauching his legs forward, sweeping at her back leg. With almost no visible effort, Sally sprang backward with her one planted leg, landing on her hands. Percy was already moving, kicking off with his left foot and driving his right foot out in a snap kick. Sally's left hand came up off the ground and caught Percy's ankle in an iron-hard grip. She pulled, and Percy hit the sand with a grunt.

Like lightning, Sally was behind him, her arm snaking around his neck.

"Yield," she hissed.

"Sorry, no." Percy's elbow smashed backwards into Sally's gut. She gasped, her hold loosening for a split second.

It was enough. Percy grabbed her arm, and threw her over his head. Her other hand swiped at Percy's ankle again, but her son had reacted before she could make contact. His leg was pulled up as the hand lashed through where it had been. Then his heel came down on her upper arm, and the lower arm went limp. Percy's hand came down, pinning her other arm to the sand. His other hand went to her face, hovering just over her eyes.

"Yield."

His mother struggled for a moment, before Percy remembered the other part of this hold.

"Or you'll be buying a seeing-eye dog."

She smiled at him, and relaxed against the sand. "I yield. Nicely done, Percy. You didn't slow down at all since last time."

Percy released his grip and rolled sideways onto the sand next to his mother. They were quiet for a moment, before kipping onto their feet in near-perfect synchronization.

"Archery next?"

His mother gave him the same beaming smile, with just a hint of bite to it.

"While running."

Percy groaned.

* * *

"No!"

Percy shot bolt upright in bed as a crash of thunder rumbled through the cabin. Waves pounded the beach like the fists of a giant, and the wind howled like a demented beast. The next thunderclap woke Sally, and she was out of bed in an instant.

"Hurricane."

Percy was about to say it was too early for hurricanes, but froze with his mouth half open when he heard another sound over the wind. A chorus of angry howls, three screeching hisses, and one furious bellow. His mother paled, and vaulted out of bed, pulling her clothes on as she moved. Percy followed her example. In less than a minute, both were dressed, and Sally grabbed a slim black backpack – a parkour bag (Sally could do that, too) – and thrust it at her son.

"Put it on." Her tone brooked no argument, and Percy obeyed. A split second later, there was a pounding on the door. Every muscle in her body taut, Sally pulled something else out of her bag – long and glinting dully in the darkness. She threw the door open, aiming the shotgun at their uninvited visitor.

It was Grover. But below his waist…

"What do you want, satyr?" Sally's voice was cold, and the shotgun hadn't wavered an inch.

The apparently non-human Grover didn't even seem to register the gun in his face.

"You have to go now! They're coming!"

"Who's coming?" Percy managed to ask, but his mother had already snatched the car keys and was pushing him out the door. Grover followed, his hooves (Hooves! What the hell was going on?!) thudding sharply against the ground.

They piled into the car, and Sally jammed the keys into the ignition. For one terrifying moment, the engine sputtered, before roaring to life. Ms. Jackson slammed the accelerator all the way to the floor, throwing Percy and Grover against the seats.

"Where…where are we going?"

"A place I hoped I would never have to send you, Percy." Replied his mother, her attention jumping between the road and the rearview mirror.

Percy knew what she was talking about. She had mentioned the summer camp that his father had wanted to send him to two years ago. He didn't understand why sending him to a summer camp would mean losing him forever, but the fear in his mother's eyes when she talked about it was enough to convince him to not want to go.

"But –"

"At the moment, Percy, I have no choice. There are too many of them for me to protect you alone."

"Them?"

"Oh, just the Lord of the Dead and the worst of his creature," Grover snarked, clearly too panicked to be thinking clearly."

"Which ones?" Sally asked, her jaw tensed as she threw the car into a skidding drift around a sharp corner.

Grover's chin trembled a little. "Hellhounds. _All three Kindly Ones_. And…Bla-hahaha!… Pasiphae's son."

Sally cursed. "Percy, what happened at the trip to the museum?"

Percy managed to choke out the major details of being attacked by Mrs. Dodds. His mother's shoulders seemed to slump just a little bit.

"Nothing for it," she murmured. "If they didn't already know, they do now."

Her foot pressed even more firmly against the pedal, trying to draw every last bit of speed from the car.

"We're almost there," Sally said. "Percy, if I – "

Then there was a blinding light and an explosion of sound.

* * *

Percy groaned as he came to a few seconds later. The car had swerved into a ditch on the side of the road. All the windows were shattered, and the roof had a gaping hole in it, the edges sizzling as raindrops hit them.

Lightning? On top of everything else, they had been struck by _lightning?_ Was there no justice in the world?

"Percy?" His mother's voice snapped him out of his fugue.

"'m all right, Mom."

"And Grover?"

Wondering how his mother knew the satyr's name when they'd never met before, Percy glanced over to his unmoving friend. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, but his chest rose and fell normally.

"Out cold."

"We need to get out of this car."

Percy nodded, and the two of them dragged Grover out the passenger-side door.

"Percy, do you see that tree?"

The twelve-year-old glanced where his mother was pointing. On the crest of the nearest hill stood a massive pine tree.

"That's the property line. If you get over that line, you'll be safe."

Even as she said this, Sally was dragging the gas can out of the trunk, which popped open when the car crashed, and drenched the inside of the car with it. Down the road, a mass of motion was just barely visible in the downpour, moving closer with every passing second.

"Mom, what are you – "

She ignored him, pulling a lighter out of a pocket, flicking it to life, and tossing it onto the passenger seat. Then she turned, and took Grover's other shoulder.

"Come on, Percy. The fire should keep them at bay for a little bit."

Then the car actually exploded, creating a ball of heat and light that lit up everything around it.

In the flickering half-light, the moving shapes became visible. Twenty massive black dogs, with slavering mouths and glowing red eyes snarled and backed away from the fireball. Behind them loomed what would have been the largest man Percy had ever seen. Easily seven feet tall, and built like a pro-bodybuilder, he was almost completely naked, with the exception of a pair of bright white underwear. Above his shoulders, though…it was like he was a reverse Grover. He had the head of a bull, with great, yellow-white horns curving outward. But what was fluttering above the horde of monstrosities was what caught Percy's attention. They looked like old ladies, but with massive, gnarled claws and leathery, batlike wings.

"Is that -?"

"Don't say their names. Names have power."

"But that's Mrs. Dodds! I- I _killed_ her!"

"Monsters never stay dead." His mother's voice sounded frustrated. "Come on, Percy, let's move."

Mother and son braced Grover onto their shoulders and sprinted towards the hill. Behind them, their pursuers realized their prey was escaping, and circled around the wreck of the burning car.

Percy chanced a look back.

"They're gaining on us, Mom."

By then, they were on the slope of the hill, almost halfway up.

"Okay then. On three, we turn and run backwards. One…"

Sally slung her shotgun up on her free shoulder. "Two…"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Three!"

As one, they swung about, and Sally fired a blast of the shotgun at the hounds, who were closest to the fleeing humans (and dead-weight satyr). The sound of the gun was lost amidst the thunder, but five of the massive dogs vanished into yellow sand. Sally tossed the gun into the air, caught the pump-grip, and cocked the shotgun again.

Three more blasts and reloads later, there were no more dogs, and Mrs. Dodds and her bat-lady sisters were hanging back even more. The bull-man – Minotaur, Percy dimly thought, somewhere in the back of his adrenaline-pumped mind – simply continued to advance, albeit more slowly.

For a moment , Percy allowed himself to hope. Then, Mrs. Dodds shrieked aloud, "All three of us at once!" and, true to her words, the three bat-women went into a steep dive.

Sally cursed again. "Percy, go!"

"But – "

"GO!"

Percy almost hesitated, but his mother's tone changed his mind. Steeling himself, he hoisted Grover over his shoulder, buddy carry-style, and sprinted up the hill as fast as his legs could carry him.

He heard a screech behind him, followed by the roaring thunder of Sally's shotgun. A second later, a second screech was interrupted by another blast of the heavy weapon.

Then, Percy was at the crest of the hill. He could see, a long way away, the lights of a large farmhouse. But it was a half mile away, too far to get help. Percy set Grover down ("Food?"), and turned to see his mother and Mrs. Dodds facing each other. The (Goddamn) Batwoman was trying to get around Sally, but the human kept her at bay with the threat of the shotgun. Percy could just barely make out the conversation the two were having, carried to him on the wind.

"Just give up, mortal. We have no interest in you, only in the hero. Surrender now, and you can still walk away."

"No way in Hades." His mother's voice was firm and unyielding, not a trace of fear in it. (It was the same voice she used when she haggled in the street markets.)

Mrs. Dodds' eyes narrowed. "On your head be it, then."

Then she lunged, claws outstretched, at the human woman.

Sally didn't even bat an eye. Her shotgun came up, drew a bead on the diving monstrosity, and fired, blowing Mrs. Dodds into dust like a clay pigeon on a shooting range.

There was a beat of quiet, before a blur of motion slammed into Sally from the side, grabbing her by the throat. The shotgun went flying, landing farther down the hill. The Minotaur roared in triumph as Sally struggled in his grip, punching at the arms wrapped around her neck. Then the hands tightened. There was a flash of light, and in a shimmer of gold, Sally Jackson was gone.

Rage wasn't enough to describe the cold fury that surged through Percy at that moment. Without a word, he started back down the hill. Picking up a rock in the grass, he hurled it with pinpoint accuracy at the Minotaur. The stone struck it in the eye, and it turned with a bellow of rage toward Percy. It snorted, stomped a foot, and began to charge.

His blood like ice, Percy began to walk faster, and then run full-tilt toward the Minotaur. The bull-man lowered its head, its horns tilted forward to impale him.

Twenty feet…

Fifteen feet…

Ten feet…

And then, just as the Minotaur was about to take Percy's life by horns, Percy leapt straight upward, vaulting up over the Minotaur's head, and landing squarely on its back. The monster's head jerked up in surprise, and Percy grabbed onto the horns to steady himself. Even as the Minotaur bucked and thrashed, trying to throw him off, Percy's ADHD brain was working at top speed. The main thread of thought running through his head was "I need a weapon." (Some of the others included. "I wonder if Gabe's car is insured against pyro mothers," "Ugh, I think the blue corn chips are trying to come back up," and "HOLYCRAPHOLYCRAPHOLYCRAPHOLY CRAPI'MRIDINGTHEMINOTAUR!")

His mother's shotgun was too far away. Even if the Minotaur was facing the other way, he would be run down before he could get there. The Minotaur would gore him with the razor…sharp…oh. Now there was an idea.

Percy switched his left hand to the right horn, and pulled with both hands at the curved piece of deadly bone. He felt a slight give, then –

_Crack!_

The Minotaur screamed in pain, and Percy tumbled off its back, landing with a thud on the grass. Clenched in his hands was one of the Minotaur's horns. The beast swung around, snorting furiously, and barreled towards Percy.

There was no thought in what Percy did next. As the Minotaur thundered towards him, he rolled to the side, coming up on one knee, the horn held like a knife in both hands. Then the horn thrust forward, slipping between the ribs of the Minotaur like a hot knife through butter.

There was a spurt of dark liquid from the wound, covering Percy in blood, before the horn reached the heart. The Minotaur _screamed_, and then dissolved into yellow sand that was whisked away by the rain and wind.

Dazed, Percy dropped the horn and stumbled back up the hill to where Grover was. He felt something hot and wet running down his cheeks, but he couldn't tell if it was the rain, or blood, or tears. Picking up Grover again, Percy started again toward the lights of the farmhouse in the distance.

Time seemed to thicken and stretch as Percy half-carried, half-dragged Grover down the hill and across the field. His world became a blur of rain, a weight on his back, and the next step towards the dim lights in the distance.

Finally, after what was both hours and a few seconds, Percy collapsed at the stairs to the lit porch of the farmhouse. As his vision began to swim, he caught sight of a familiar-looking man and a girl with curly blonde hair.

"He must be the one," she was saying, sounding fuzzy and distant.

"Peace, Annabeth," replied the man. "Help him ins…"

But Percy had finally lost his tenuous grip on consciousness, and whatever else the man was saying was lost, as he fell, down, down, down into blissful blackness.

* * *

**So. First chapter, yeaaaah. And yes, as it says on the tin, Sally Jackson is a badass. Her skill with a shotgun is actually canon, I just took it to the illogical conclusion of her dusting twenty hellhounds and all three Furies. One-handed. Then again, at this point it's not her first rodeo. She's been protecting Percy since he was born, so she's pretty good at fighting monsters and mortals alike. Her training Percy is another extension of her oath. In order for him to have the best chance at surviving, she's making sure that he can fight with anything that falls into his hands, or without weapons if he needs to. I'm basing Percy's fighting style on the description given in Son of Neptune in the mock-battle towards the beginning. Percy is mobile, unpredictable, and a pragmatic fighter. So I figured I'd work in that direction, and have his mother teach him a bunch of martial arts that mix practicality with unpredictability and agility. Muay Thai and Jiujitsu for practicality, capoeira and kung fu for agility and unpredictability.**

**By the way, credit to the VERY Talented PumpkinSoup on Deviantart for drawing the background for the cover image. I bow to the superior artists of the world. (To be honest, I've been profiled as a child of Athena, but I blow at arts and crafts.)**

**Not sure when the next chapter will come out, but this story will take a backseat to MeE and IS. Unless my muse is extremely stubborn, and delivers this one's next chapter instead of those. Please, Thals?**

**Well, that's all for me!**

**Αντίο, ****φίλοι!**

**CracktheSkye**


	2. It's Like a Fraternity, but with Gods

**Well. I guess Thalia is not yet appeased by my sacrifices to her. Maybe after this chapter? **

**I just realized that I forgot to include a disclaimer last chapter. So:**

**I don't own Percy Jackson.**

**I don't own Percy Jackson.**

…**Something inside me just died. Twice.**

* * *

**It's Like a Fraternity, but with Gods**

Percy floated in and out of consciousness, picking up occasional blurry images of a lit ceiling or indistinct faces in between the spans of darkness. Occasionally, he could swear he saw his mother standing over him, but he would always drift off before he could say anything to her.

He finally swam up to almost-fully-awake, to the sight of the blond girl from before spooning buttered-popcorn pudding (It wasn't as bad as you'd expect) into his mouth. A glob fell off the spoon and landed on his chin, and she scraped it off, looking amused. Then she noticed he was awake, and her grey eyes widened.

"What's happening on the summer solstice? What was stolen?"

"What? I don't –"

Her face fell, and her brow furrowed in thought. "You don't know? But I thought…"

Then the door started to open, and she shoved another spoonful into Percy's mouth. She needn't have bothered; he was out by the time the spoon touched his lips.

* * *

The time after that, the room once again held only one other person; a tall man standing in the corner, blonde and built like a surfer. He looked fairly normal. Except for the unnaturally blue color of his eyes…and the eyes on his forehead. And his cheeks. And his neck. And the backs of his hands.

Not sure what to make of this, Percy simply drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Percy finally woke up for good, it was to the warm feeling of the sun on his face and a breeze brushing lightly through his hair. Sometime while he had been asleep, he had been moved outside, and was lying in a deck chair, a pillow behind him. It would have been a pleasant wake-up, except for the fact that his mouth felt like a scorpion had made a nest of cotton balls in it. (Not that Percy knew what that felt like, but it sounded about right).

On the table next to him was a tall glass of what looked like apple juice, complete with cherry, straw, and paper parasol.

Then Percy looked left, and froze.

Grover, normal-legged and gawky Grover, was hovering hesitantly nearby, a cardboard shoebox in his arms.

Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe his mom was inside the house, asking for…directions? No, Sally never got lost. Help? Had they gotten in a car crash? Then why was Grover here?

"Grover, what... where am I?"

"Camp Half-Blood."

"Half-Blood? Your summer address?"

"My...not exactly, Percy."

Percy opened his mouth to ask what Grover meant, but the expression on his friend's face, heavy with guilt, drew him up short.

"You saved my life, Percy," Grover intoned, his chin trembling slightly. "Up on the hill…you…I…It was the least I could do. I…um…went back up to the hill. I thought…I thought you might want this."

Grover, hands trembling, placed the box in Percy's lap, as though he was carrying a priceless vase.

Resting in the box was a curved piece of bone, black and yellow-white and razor sharp. Its tip was stained with blood.

Reality crashed down on Percy like a falling building. It hadn't been a dream. Grover had come to their cabin at Montauk. Their car had been struck by lightning. They had been attacked by a monster straight from Mr. Brunner's mythology textbook. His mother…

"Mom…?"

Grover's face fell even further. "I'm sorry Percy. She –" The boy fumbled for words. "She didn't make it."

Percy looked away, his fist involuntarily clenching. His mother was gone. He was an orphan now. Where was he supposed to live? With Smelly Gabe?

Okay, not only no, but HELL NO. He would live on the streets, or find a way to be declared a ward of the state. Or maybe he'd leave the country. Head to Mexico, or somewhere else where it was easy to slip under the radar. Not saying anything, he began to consider what options he had. No money, but it was summer, so he could probably find a job, make enough money to find a way south. The biggest problem would probably be making it to a warmer state before winter…

"Percy?"

Percy blinked. Grover was staring at him, his expression concerned.

"Are you okay? You just started staring off into space…"

"I'm fine, Grover. It's alright."

"No, it's not alright! I was supposed to make sure you were safe, and you end up saving me, and your mom –"

Percy's shoulders tensed and Grover cut himself off.

"Oh, Percy, I'm sorry…I..." Grover looked down, and stamped a foot in frustration.

The Converse Hi-Top came off. Percy could very clearly see the cloven hoof emerging from Grover's pant leg, and the matching hole in the Styrofoam-filled shoe.

"Oh, Styx!"

Thunder rumbled distantly in the cloudless sky.

Percy sat quietly for a moment. That was that, then. Greek myths were walking the earth. He had slain the Minotaur, and Grover was a satyr. If he shaved his friend's head, he'd find curly horns. Distantly, Percy realized he was going into shock.

Huh.

It wasn't so bad. He was getting a bit dizzy, though…Whoa, really dizzy.

"Steady," came Grover's voice (Which wasn't steady in the least). "Here, drink some of this."

Percy took the proffered glass, and sipped at it through the straw.

He almost dropped it after the first drink. He had expected apple juice. Instead he got…he wasn't sure. It tasted like happiness, and home, and safety. (None of those things had a taste, but…that was the best he could describe it as.) He could have sworn he caught a hint of his mom's cookies, maybe a bit of the s'mores they would have at Montauk, but they were gone the moment he recognized them.

Before he realized it, the glass was empty.

"How was it? Good?"

Percy nodded, still processing what he had just had.

"What did it taste like?" There was genuine curiosity in Grover's voice.

"I…don't know. Happiness, I guess…"

Grover's eyebrows went up. "Happiness? Really?"

"Y-yeah. Don't really know any other way to describe it."

"How do you feel?"

Percy thought for a moment. "Like I could win the Superbowl on my own."

"Good. I'm not sure if you could've had any more of that stuff."

"Any more?"

"Come on. There are some people you need to talk to."

* * *

Percy made his way around the house, occasionally stopping to regain his balance on the railing. He kept a firm grip on the Minotaur horn, though Grover did offer to carry it. It was the only thing he had to remind him of the monster that had taken away his mother. He wasn't going to let it go anytime soon.

They rounded the corner of the farmhouse, and Percy paused a moment at the view that expanded in front of him.

"Percy Jackson," Grover gestured grandly outward with his arm, "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."

A mile away, to the north, the Long Island Sound glittered under a cloudless sky, waves lapping against a strip of white sand. Between the water and the house was a vast meadow of green, dotted with buildings, trees, and a small lake. The buildings, though, weren't the average run-of-the-mill shacks. There were what looked like a cluster of cabins in the distance, yes, but there was also an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a round arena, all looking like they had been plucked straight out of a book about Ancient Greece and set down on Long Island.

There were kids all over the place, too. Shooting on an archery range (Did that kid just shoot three arrows at once?), riding horses down trails (Did those horses have _wings_?), playing volleyball in a sandpit (Some of those kids were jumping much higher than anyone except maybe Olympic athletes could), and canoeing on the lake (That, at least, looked normal). The campers were all wearing the same orange t-shirt that Grover had on.

Percy turned to Grover with a raised eyebrow.

"You've been waiting to say that for a long time now, haven't you?"

The satyr grinned apologetically. "I've never gotten to do it before. It was always another satyr, or a senior camper."

"Feel a bit better?"

"A little."

Percy turned at the hint of motion to his left.

At the other end of the porch on this side of the house, a table had been set up. Two men faced each other across the table. The one facing Percy wasn't a tall man, but he was rather porky. He had very curly black hair, Greek features, a large, red nose, and watery eyes. He would have looked like a middle-aged cherub if not for the tiger-print Hawaiian shirt. He looked harmless, but something about him made the hair on the back of Percy's neck stand up.

"Mr. D," Grover said, his tone trembling minutely, "the camp director. Don't…piss him off, okay Percy?"

Percy nodded, although his ADHD was making Hulk jokes in the back of his head. Then he noticed the blond girl leaning against the railing; the same one who had spoon-fed him pudding. Grover followed Percy's glance.

"Annabeth. She's one of the campers, but she's been here as long as anyone. And…well, you already know Chiron."

Chiron, Percy guessed, was the man in the wheelchair with his back to him, with the tweed jacket, thinning brown hair, and…wait…

"Mr. Brunner?"

The man turned, revealing that he was indeed Percy's Latin teacher, and smiled. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Ah, Percy, you're awake," he said, gesturing Percy forward. "Now we have four for pinochle."

Percy took the seat to Chiron's right, with his back against the house wall. Mr. Brunner's eyes deepened just a little bit at this. Mr. D turned to look at Percy, his bloodshot eyes filled with exasperation.

"Oh, very well. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. Don't expect me to jump up and shake your hand."

Percy very subtly turned so that Mr. D was more in his field of vision. He trusted Mr. Brunner more than he did this stranger who was almost definitely an alcoholic.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called.

The girl came forward.

"This girl nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, could you please see if Cabin Eleven has made space for Percy yet?"

"Sure, Chiron."

She was about Percy's age, and a few inches taller than him. She was clearly very athletic, with a deep tan that, along with her curly blond hair, made her look like a valley girl. Her eyes, though, threw everything else off. They were stormy gray, and dangerously intelligent. She stared at Percy for a moment, sizing him up the same way he was her. They locked eyes for a moment, and Percy tensed ever-so-slightly at the intensity in her eyes. Then they broke eye contact.

"You drool in your sleep."

With that eloquent farewell, she turned and vaulted over the railing, sprinting out across the grassy expanse.

Percy's mouth hung open for a second after her departure, before he turned back to a softly chuckling Mr. Brunner.

"So you work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Call me Chiron, Percy. Mr. Brunner was just a pseudonym."

Percy nodded, although he didn't let down his guard in the slightest. People who used false names generally had more to hide than just their real identity. Then he turned his attention to the heavy man to his right, who was dully shuffling the deck.

"And Mr. D? Is that your real name?"

The pudgy man gave Percy a baleful stare. "Names have power, Percy Jackson. You should not be so free with them."

"Sorry." Percy wasn't, but Grover had told him not to anger this sullen man, so he apologized anyway.

Chiron smiled at Percy. "It is good that you are here and in one piece Percy. It would have been a shame for my time at Yancy to have been for naught. It has been a long while since I've gone into the field. We have satyrs stationed at most schools, but Grover thought, correctly, that there was something special about you, so I made the trip upstate, and…convinced your previous Latin teacher to take a sabbatical. Oh, nothing like that," the man amended, seeing Percy's look. "He is currently on an all-expense-paid trip to Italy. Considering most of the students that I taught this year, he deserves it."

"You came to Yancy just for me?"

"Well, at first we weren't sure, but you set that to rights fairly quickly. We let your mother know we were watching you, in case you were ready to come to Camp Half-Blood."

Percy tensed at the mention of his mother, but Chiron didn't notice it.

"We waited as long as we could. There was – is – so much you still need to know, but you made it here. That's always the first test."

Percy couldn't help speaking up.

"So what was Mrs. Dodds?"

Chiron grimaced. "She was an unexpected complication. She knew that there was a half-blood at Yancy, but she wasn't aware it was you until the trip to the museum. Then you…dealt with her, admirably done by the way, and the arrow left the bow. She and her sisters brought help the next time and…well. We are lucky Grover found you before they did."

Percy didn't feel lucky; his mother was gone, and he was alone in the world. Chiron seemed to notice his discomfort this time, and smiled sympathetically.

"It's not your fault, Percy. Your mother knew the risks when she decided to keep you close to her."

"A foolish mistake," Mr. D grumbled, "That's how most of those brats get killed. Young man, are you going to bid or not?"

Percy briefly imitated a deer caught in the headlights of a semi, and the pudgy man sighed and explained the basics of pinochle.

"Well," sighed Chiron, looking resigned, "There's no real way to ease someone into this, and our orientation film won't cover it. Percy, you know already that Greek myths are real; Grover and the Minotaur were proof enough. More than that, though, gods, as in the Greek gods, exist, and are very much active in this world."

Percy stared at his ex-Latin teacher. "God?"

"No, Percy, gods. Lower-case 'g', 's' on the end. God, singular, capital 'g'…we won't get into that. Wars have been started over less. I'm referring to the immortal gods of legend, who control the forces of nature and mankind."

Percy was starting to feel a bit dizzy. "Wha… you mean like Zeus, Aphrodite, and Ares? Those gods?"

Distant thunder rolled across the cloudless sky.

"Really Perseus Jackson, you should stop throwing around names like they're candy. Someone might take offense."

Percy was liking Mr. D. less and less.

"These gods…they're still around? They exist?"

"Immortal means _immortal_, Percy. Imagine it, for a moment. Not dying, not changing? Simply _existing_, for all time? Even if no one remembers you, no one believes in you?"

Percy winced, and Chiron nodded.

"You understand, I see."

Mr. D. snorted. "Oh, come off it Chiron. I've never seen an issue with the immortality bit."

He waved his hand, and the sunlight seemed to _bend_, and weave itself into a crystal goblet filled with what looked like red wine.

Chiron chuckled. "Mr. D, your restrictions."

"Eh? Oh." The man frowned, and the wine goblet became a can of coke. "Old habits die hard."

Percy felt even more lost (If that was possible). "Restrictions?"

"Father lovers to punish me." The pudgy man answered. "The first time it was Prohibition. Awful ten years. The second time – she really was a pretty wood nympy – he sent me here. 'Work with them instead of tearing them down.' Absolutely ridiculous."

"Your father?"

"Bit slow, this one, Chiron. My father is Zeus."

The puzzle pieces clicked. Tiger skin. Wine. Looks like a drunkard. Father is Zeus. Grover acts like he's his boss. The stories his mother read to him every night came back.

"You're Dionysus, god of wine."

"Give the boy a prize!"

Percy stared at him for a moment. "Excuse me if I have a hard time believing that."

The pudgy man straightened just slightly, and stared at Percy.

Every hair on the back of Percy's neck stood straight up, and all his muscles tensed. He half-rose out of his chair, his instincts screaming at him that this man was dangerous. Then the man spoke, his words soft, but simmering with a hidden power.

"Would you like to test me, child?"

Percy's teeth clenched for a moment, before he forced his jaw muscles to relax.

"No…sir."

The unearthly presence faded. Dionysus slouched back down in his chair.

"Good." The god turned back to the card game. "I think I win, Chiron."

"I think not, Mr. D." Chiron laid out his last hand, and the black-haired god slumped.

"Hmph." The god rose. "I'm going to get some sleep before I have to deal with yet another sing-along. Grover, please come with me. We need to have another talk about your…performance."

Grover cringed, but obediently followed the god into the house.

Chiron smiled at Percy's concerned gaze. "Grover will be fine, Percy. It's just…he's made quite a few mistakes in his current role. Your retrieval may well have been the last straw for his career hopes."

Chiron changed topic, seeing Percy's concern for his friend. "There were two other things that Grover found on the Hill, Percy. One was the backpack you were wearing…" Chiron reached down and placed the bag on the table. It seemed perfectly fine, not even a scratch on it. Percy pulled it toward him, and Chiron reached below the table again.

"And the other was this."

Percy froze as Chiron laid his mother's shotgun on the table. It had weathered wood stock and pump, and the metal was scratched and worn from what looked like years of use. On one side of the barrel, there was an inscription, cut deeply into the metal.

"Androktasia," Percy read the Greek letters like he had been born to read them. "Slaughter."

"Your mother knew the risks, Percy. Better, perhaps, than any mortal before her. She vowed to protect you, and she chose a fine weapon to do it with. But the most important part of this gun is not the gun itself."

Chiron pressed a finger against the stock, just above the grip, and a part of the wood popped out. Reaching inside, Chiron drew out a bronze dagger. Engraved on the blade was another name in Ancient Greek. Percy cocked his head so he could read it.

"Prostáti̱s."

Chiron nodded gravely. "The Protector. This is a truly heroic blade, Percy. At the same time, it is a truly tragic one. As long as the blade of Prostáti̱s is outside of its sheath, whatever its wielder wants to protect will be safe from any harm. The price of this protection is that while its blade is bared, the user is entirely unprotected from attacks. No amount of defense will keep them safe, except that of an ally."

Percy sucked in a sharp breath. "You mean, if my mom hadn't been holding that knife…"

"She would not have fallen to the Minotaur, yes."

Guilt pounded down on Percy.

"So it's my –"

"No, Percy," Chiron interrupted firmly. "It is not your fault that your mother died. She knew full well the risks of wielding Prostáti̱s. When she took up that weapon, she had already decided that your life was more important than hers."

Percy was quiet for a while, before sighing.

"Well, mom would kick my butt if she found out I was moping over her death."

Chiron smiled slightly.

"From what I know of your mother, she'd come back from the grave to do it."

The black-haired boy laughed quietly. "She would."

Chiron rolled his chair back from the table, and Percy stood up.

Then Chiron stood up too. With all four legs.

The centaur (Percy felt a bit stupid for forgetting that the Chiron in legends had been a centaur) gestured for Percy to follow him.

"Come, Percy. We should get you set up in Cabin Eleven."

Slightly dazed, Percy followed.

* * *

As Chiron and Percy walked across the field, the centaur explained to Percy how the Gods had moved over the millennia, following the Heart of the West. The entire time, though, Percy felt eyes on his back, and could just make out the murmurs.

"That's him…"

"…see that horn?"

"What's with the shotgun?"

As they passed the cabins, Percy made a game of trying to guess which cabin belonged to which god. He got Zeus, Hera, Demeter, and Hephaestus, but when they got to Cabin Three…

Percy stopped and stared at the low, humble building for a moment. Then, on some unknown instinct, he broke away from Chiron, his hand reaching for the handle.

"Oh no, you don't want to…"

Percy pushed open the door. The smell of the sea wafted out the door. Six beds, sheets in perfect order, sat in the darkened cabin. The sense of both loneliness and nostalgia washed over Percy for a moment, and the centaur pulled him away, shutting the door after them.

Some of the other cabins, like the loud and (in Percy's opinion) rather ugly Ares cabin, or the bright Apollo cabin, were very crowded. So why were some of them empty?

In a very short time, they had reached the last cabin on the left. Cabin eleven actually looked like a real camp cabin. It was large and wooden, with brown peeling paint and a caduceus over the door. Hermes, then. On a bench outside of the cabin was the blond girl from before, Annabeth, reading what looked like a Greek book on Greek architecture.

"Annabeth, would you help Percy get situated? I have an archery class to teach."

She nodded, closing the book and standing. "Got it, Chiron."

She pushed open the door. The inside of the cabin looked like a refugee camp. It was packed with kids, and the floor was covered in sleeping bags. Everyone stood and bowed to Chiron, although the centaur was a little too tall to enter.

"Good luck, Percy," Chiron offered, "I'll see you at dinner."

Then, he galloped off.

Percy had a distinct feeling he had just been thrown to the sharks. Every eye in the cabin was fixed on him, or maybe it was the horn in his hand (or the shotgun).

"Percy Jackson," Annabeth introduced, "meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" came a voice from the back of the cabin.

"Undetermined."

There was a cascade of quiet groans, before an older camper stepped forward. "Come on guys, be nice. Welcome to the cabin of misfit toys. You can have the spot over there."

Percy glanced over at the small spot that the camper had pointed out, before looking back at him. He was tall, blonde, and muscled, with a friendly smile and a scar on his face that, in Percy's opinion, made him look five times more dangerous.

"Luke, Percy," Annabeth was blushing, and seemed to be having a hard time meeting Luke's eyes. "Percy, Luke is your counselor for now."

"For now?"

Luke shrugged. "You're undetermined. We're not sure where to put you yet. That's why you're here, in Hermes. The god of travelers and all that."

Percy didn't set anything down in his spot yet. Hermes was the god of thieves after all, so he wasn't going to leave his only worldly possessions unprotected just yet.

"So how long will I be here?"

"Until you're determined."

"How long does that take?"

There was laughter, although Percy couldn't tell if it was mocking or sympathetic. Annabeth grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Come on. I need to show you the rest of the camp."

* * *

They hadn't gone very far from the cabin when Annabeth stopped pulling Percy by the arm, and turned to face him.

"You have to do better than that, Jackson."

Percy bristled. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

She scoffed a bit, and muttered something under her breath. Percy didn't catch it, but it didn't help much.

"What's your problem with me? All I did was kill a stupid bull– "

She cut him off. "Don't you know how many kids here wish they had a chance to fight the Minotaur? I- some of us have been training our whole lives for that!"

Percy remembered something that had been bothering him. "Wait, so it _is _the same Minotaur as in the stories? Why isn't he dead?"

"Monsters don't ever stay dead, Percy. Chiron calls them archetypes. As long as there are heroes, there will be monsters to fight them."

Percy sighed. One question answered, a slew more in its place. Might as well go with the easier ones.

"Why are some of the cabins empty when Hermes is packed?"

There, a fairly straightforward question…

"Cabins aren't just cabins, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or, your parent."

Well that cleared it right up!

"My mother is Sally Jackson. She worked at the martial arts center on Fifth, and she worked the candy shop in Grand Central."

Percy had been looking away, and so didn't notice that Annabeth had stiffened when he gave his mother's name. She recovered quickly enough that he didn't notice when he looked back.

"I'm talking about your birth father, Percy."

"He's dead." Percy felt a small twinge in his chest at being so blunt about it, but that twinge in his chest turned into an empty, hollow feeling at Annabeth's next words.

"He's not dead, Percy. Farthest thing from it, actually."

"Wha–?"

"He's…well, he's a god."

"A god."

"Yes. One of the immortal Olympian gods."

Percy didn't say anything for a long, minute.

"Which one?"

Annabeth seemed to flinch just slightly at the hope in Percy's voice. "We don't know. That's what undetermined means. Until your parent claims you…then you move into that cabin."

Percy's shoulders slumped a little, but he reminded himself that his father still might claim him, and then he might have a chance for answers.

"Well lookie here! A newbie!"

The loud voice utterly killed any serious mood that Percy might have been holding onto. He recognized the speaker as one of the girls from the Ares cabin, backed up by three more Ares girls, all clad in camo.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed, looking equal parts annoyed and cautious, "what do you want?"

"Nothing with you, Wise Girl," sneered the girl, her eyes still on Percy.

"Percy, meet Clarisse, daughter of Ares." Annabeth looked resigned, while Clarisse looked strangely eager.

"We have an initiation ceremony for new kids around here, Pissy."

"Percy." He corrected.

"Whatever."

Percy sighed, and placed his bag and his mother's shotgun on the ground, before handing the Minotaur horn to Annabeth. Then, he half-turned towards Clarisse, keeping her and her cohorts in his field of vision.

Then, Clarisse came charging forward, and Percy slipped into the calm between-state of hyperfocus that ADHD lent him. He wove around the grab with very little effort, then planted his foot in front of Clarisse's, and gave an easy push to her back. The girl went sprawling with a surprised yelp, but Percy was already moving. He ducked underneath the attempted bear hug from Girl #1, then hitting her with a snap-kick to the torso that would definitely keep her out of it for the rest of the fight. The thrown punch from Girl #2 was palmed to one side, and then Percy grabbed the attached arm, spun away, and flipped her over his head, delivering a fast kick to the kidneys for good measure.

Girl #3 went for a slightly smarter approach, hanging back slightly before throwing a kick at Percy. In response, he dropped into a combat roll underneath the extended leg, coming up in a crouch on her unprotected side, and swept her knee out from under her, then slapped her hard enough in the temples to leave her on the ground, stunned.

Percy turned just as Clarisse got back to her feet, and slid back into a ready stance. The odds were a bit more even now…

Percy heard the sound of movement behind him, but before he could turn, he had been grabbed from behind in a bear hug. He didn't have time to break the bear hug either, because Clarisse grabbed him a second later.

He could see why she was a child of the War God. He was definitely faster and more skilled than her, but her grip was like hardened steel. He couldn't even get her to budge an inch. Clarisse and the daughter of Ares that had grabbed him from behind (When had Girl #1 gotten back up?) dragged him across the green to what Percy could tell on sight was the bathroom, followed by the other two Ares girls, who looked none the worse for wear. (What the hell?)

Clarisse snarled as she held his head over one of the filthy toilets. (Figures. No matter where you go, the bathrooms suck.)

"Little punk, thinks he's all that. Yeah, real Big Three material here."

Percy tried one last time to break her grip, but despite his efforts, she started to force him downwards toward the disgusting water.

Oh, hell no.

Percy felt a tug in his gut, and then a slight rumbling from the toilet. A split second later, a high-pressure jet of water that wouldn't looked out of place coming from a fire hose arced up and around Percy's head, and joined jets of water from seemingly every fixture in the room in simultaneously soaking Clarisse and her sisters and propelling them rather forcefully out the door.

Percy felt the tug in his stomach fade, and with it went the magic jets of water. Percy climbed to his feet, barely noticing that he was bone dry, while Annabeth, who looked torn between shock, anger, and collapsing in laughter, was also soaked.

Both of them left the soaked bathroom to see a quartet of soaked Ares girls, struggling to their feet, and a crowd of campers that couldn't seem to decide whether to laugh or gape.

The Ares cabin seemed to decide that preserving any shred of dignity was preferable to another toilet water slip n' slide, and beat a hasty retreat back to Cabin Five.

Percy trudged back over to where his bag and his mother's shotgun lay. He turned back to Annabeth, who was once again looking at him like he was a logic puzzle that would launch a nuclear missile at her enemies.

Percy frowned. "What?"

Annabeth blinked, and seemed to realize that she was staring at a human.

"Try not to get claimed before Capture the Flag, Percy. I'd rather have you and Hermes in one sweep."

* * *

**Okay, so I finished this chapter, and it seems like Thalia might be having some mercy on me. I was in the middle of the fight scene with Clarisse, and she pulled out a pokéball and started battling with my Id, who replied with a very impressive spell chain. So, I think I've gotten inspiration for my other two stories. (Finally, dammit!).**

**I know, not much happened this chapter, but its hard to change the way Riordan did his exposition and world-building (he did it so well), but the next chapter should be fun. The week afterward, Capture the Flag, being claimed…and a letter.**

**Authors are a lot like gods, except with reviews; if we don't get reviews, we start to fade. Please help me avoid ending up like Pan.**


	3. A Problem like Percy

**Dammit, Thalia.**

**Disclaimer: **

"**Computer keys clack**

**Ricky owns Percy Jackson**

**CracktheSkye does not."**

**Take that, Apollo!**

* * *

**How do You Solve a Problem like Percy?**

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth Chase considered herself a fairly smart girl. She was, of course, a daughter of Athena. But even among her siblings, half of which could probably breeze through college at fourteen, she stood out. Of the residents of Cabin Six, she was definitely the best fighter, even though she usually used only her knife. She was an excellent tactician, and had been the mastermind behind the humiliation of the Apollo-Ares-Hephaestus alliance in Capture-the-Flag two years ago. She was the head camper of the Athena cabin, despite having several siblings older than her. When Chiron had given her an IQ test a year ago, she had scored a 175. She was, quite literally, a genius.

And she still couldn't make heads or tails of Perseus Jackson. In the week since she had arrived, she had come up with a multitude of different theories as to his godly parent, and discarded them all as quickly as they had come.

He wasn't very book smart, so he probably wasn't one of her siblings. He did have a surprisingly good knowledge of Greek myths and legends, and picked up Ancient Greek as well as any other half-blood.

He had impeccable archery skills, so he could have been a child of Apollo. Then again, he had literally zero talent in music, or poetry (according to him, his knowledge of instruments consisted entirely of "Chopsticks" on the piano.)

He was pretty fast, but that wasn't an indicator of any particular parent, except maybe not being Hephaestus; they tended towards power over speed. He still couldn't beat the nymphs, but then again, no one could. (Some people just lost less badly.)

Percy certainly didn't have Dionysus as a parent. Plants didn't know him from Adam. The Aphrodite girls seemed to think Percy was good-looking enough to be one of theirs, but if Percy was a child of Aphrodite, he was easily the most active child of Aphrodite _ever. _(Plus, there was the fact that his mother was mortal.)

He was _really_ good at wrestling and fighting, to the point where he could fight Clarisse to a draw. He wasn't as strong as she was, but he made up for it with sheer skill. Annabeth had watched him fight a few rounds, and she recognized a few techniques from Muay Thai and Jiujitsu, but when she asked him where he had learned to fight so well, he changed the subject. Annabeth didn't mind too much.

She was hiding things from him, too.

Luke seemed just as confused as Annabeth as to Percy's Olympian parent, and had hesitantly suggested that he might be a child of Hermes; in Luke's words, a "Jack of all Trades." But Annabeth didn't think that was right, either. Percy bore no resemblance to any other child of the Messenger God, and Hermes' traits tended to breed true.

Malcolm had said that maybe Percy was the child of a minor god, but even he didn't believe that. Twenty hellhounds, three Kindly Ones, and the Minotaur didn't go after children of Nemesis or Hypnos, after all.

No, Annabeth's money was on Percy being Big Three. The downside was, no one knew what any child of Poseidon or Hades was like. Poseidon's last child had died in 1966, and Hades' last child had been killed in Berlin, April 1945.

Yeah, there was a reason children of the Death God weren't popular.

But as far as children of Zeus went…well, Percy reminded Annabeth of Thalia so much that it hurt. He had the same sort of attitude, hard-headed and stubborn, and the same wry sense of humor. She was fairly certain if the daughter of Zeus had still been alive, Thalia and Percy would either have tried to strangle each other, or been best friends.

Or both.

The sound of clashing swords interrupted her ruminations, and Annabeth looked up from the architecture book she hadn't been actually reading to look down at the floor of the arena. Apparently, she had been here longer than she thought; Hermes didn't have swords practice until the afternoon on Thursdays.

Then, Annabeth's eyes focused on the pair fighting in the center of the arena, and she nearly dropped the book.

Luke had apparently singled out Percy as his sparring partner today. (Surprisingly, singling out the newbies made for a _great _icebreaker.) Unlike the usual display of Luke vs. Moving Punching Bag, however, Percy was _actually holding his own_. Luke was clearly more skilled, faster, and stronger than Percy, but the newest addition to Hermes Cabin was astonishingly good himself. For every blow that Luke landed with the flat of his blade, two more were blocked or deflected. That was better than most campers could ever do against the best swordsman in three hundred years.

Luke still had the advantage of experience and age, though, and Annabeth could tell Percy was relieved when the Hermes leader called break. Luke dumped ice water over himself, and Percy, who was clearly nearly exhausted, did the same.

Annabeth zoned out a bit while Luke demonstrated some more advanced techniques. Luke and Percy both looked…really good when they were wet. The daughter of Athena slapped herself when she realized just how much she sounded like an Aphrodite girl.

Then, Percy and Luke started dueling again, and Annabeth _did _drop her book. Percy had been managing to hold his own against Luke, but now…now Percy was fighting him evenly. Their swords wove a web of flashing metal around them, and it almost looked they were dancing. Neither Luke nor Percy seemed to be able to get in a hit, or even get the other to stumble. The fight wore on and on, longer than anyone had ever lasted against Luke before. Finally, though, Annabeth's sharp eyes caught the slowing of Percy's blocks and cuts. He was getting tired.

Then, the unthinkable happened. The two blades locked, and, in a blur of motion and a clatter of metal, Luke's sword fell to the earth, and the tip of Percy's blade rested against the son of Hermes' throat.

The arena was dead silent for a moment. It was impossible. Unbelievable. Inconceivable! Luke hadn't lost a bout since he had come to camp, and here a rookie camper hadn't just tied him, but _won._

Percy dropped the tip of the sword down from Luke's throat, and murmured an apology to Luke. The blonde half-blood was quiet for a half-second, and then grinned from ear to ear.

"What are you sorry for, Percy? By the gods, show me that again!"

They repeated the drill again, but Percy seemed to have lost the supernatural speed and strength that had won him the last match. After only a few minutes, Percy's sword had hit the sand of the arena.

They tried a few more times, but each time, it ended the same way, with Luke's easy victory.

Annabeth left, frowning.

Was it just a fluke? No, Percy was genuinely skilled. She hadn't seen anyone who seemed so natural with a sword, even if it wasn't properly balanced. Even Luke, when she had first met him, hadn't been that good.

"Curiouser and curiouser."

* * *

Friday dawned, and Annabeth rolled over reluctantly as Apollo's sun made itself known through the windows. As much as she disliked the sometimes-prophetic dreams every demigod found themselves the victim of, her bed was soooooooo comfortable.

"Uaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh…." The blonde yawned as she stretched her arms out to the sides, then scrubbed at her eyes with one hand.

Her brother Malcolm breezed past her workspace. "Morning Annabeth!~"

She replied with her modified Non-Lethal Sibling Pacification Projectile.

Malcolm threw the pillow right back. Annabeth grumbled under her breath about stupidly cheerful siblings and stupid mornings. The son of Athena replied with a grin.

"Better hurry, Annabeth, or your boyfriend will wonder why you're skipping out on lessons!"

Her other siblings snickered, and Annabeth flushed, hurling her Lethal Sibling Pacification Projectile (which had been located underneath her non-lethal one) into the wall two inches below Malcolm's groin.

"…Shutting up now," he managed, eyes fixed on the very sharp dagger.

Just another morning in the Athena Cabin.

* * *

Annabeth jogged towards the canoe lake, where Percy sat on the dock, his legs dangling into the water.

"Sorry I'm late, Percy," she apologized, "Malcolm was being a – Percy, are you okay?"

The dark-haired boy's shoulders were shaking just slightly, and as she drew nearer she saw the backpack he had arrived with next to him, and a sheet of paper clutched in his hands.

"Percy?"

He turned his head to look at her, and she almost recoiled from the _grief_ in his eyes.

"I finally opened up the backpack Mom gave me. T-this was on top."

A violently shaking hand offered her the paper. Gingerly, and feeling like she was trespassing on something incredibly painful the entire time, Annabeth took it. As Percy turned away to regard the lake again, she began to read.

_My Dearest Percy,_

_If you are reading this, I am gone. I wish it could have turned out differently, that I could have kept you safe for the rest of your life. But, as I've told you before, if wishes were horses, all men would ride. Do you remember all those stories I told you, about the Greek gods and their heroes?_

_All those stories are true, Percy. And the gods and monsters in those stories are still around. They've changed a bit over the millennia, but they still exist. You remember those strangers you'd point out to me when you were little that you thought were strange? They were monsters, Percy. Ever since you were born, monsters have been hunting you. I kept them away from you, even when it meant marrying Gabe. The only reason I could put up with him was because he stank. He is so completely, disgustingly mortal that he completely masks your scent from the monsters._

_I talk about your scent. There's a reason that the monsters only hunt you. In the Greek myths, the gods would have children with mortals. These half-mortal, half-godly children became heroes – Hercules, Theseus, Perseus._

_Percy, you are also a demigod. Your father, who I met at Montauk is…_

…_It looks like I can't even tell you now. Know this though, Percy: Your father loved you immensely, even before you were born. He wished he could have stayed to watch you grow, but he could not._

_In his stead, I have done my best to prepare you for the time when you read this letter. I've taught you how to fight, and how to survive. I've taught you as many Greek legends as I could. This bag is my last gift to you, Percy. I call it the Hero's Survival Bag. There's money in there for food, and to get you to Camp Half-Blood. It's a strawberry farm out on Long Island, and it's in the phonebook under Half-Blood Hill Farm. _

_Get there as soon as you can. That camp is the only safe place for half-bloods. Trust no one until you get there. If anyone tries to talk to you, run away. If they know your name, or seem odd to you, they are a monster. There is a small bronze knife in the bag as well. If they get close enough to touch you, use it. If they are human, the blade won't hurt them. If they are a monster, it will. You know how, don't hesitate._

_The last time I saw your father, I swore an oath on the River Styx that I would protect you until you were strong enough to stand on your own. I don't know when you'll be reading this, but I do know that you are my son. Even now that I am gone, I know that you will survive. Whenever you lift a weapon, I will lift it with you. Whenever you throw a punch or a block, I will be there with you._

_Be strong, Percy. I love you._

_Mom_

Annabeth stared at the letter for a long moment, then looked back at Percy, and tried to suppress the wave of jealousy that rolled through her. As sorry as she felt for him, Percy had something that few demigods had: a parent who truly cared. To swear an oath on the Styx to protect him…she wished her father had cared like that.

Then, she felt guilty. Even if she was jealous of Percy, he had still watched his mother die to save him, and he had just read her final words to him. She couldn't imagine how he must feel.

"Percy, I'm…I'm sorry."

The black-haired boy didn't say anything for a while, then swallowed hard, and turned to face her.

"Thanks, Annabeth."

Annabeth blushed at the earnestness in Percy's voice. "It – It's nothing. It's my responsibility as a more experienced half-blood to make sure new ones are coping well!"

"Still, thank you." Percy hefted the bag next to him. "I haven't looked at what else is in the bag yet. Do you mind?"

Annabeth took a seat next to him, fighting down the blush. Percy started taking items from the bag, and with each one, Annabeth's eyebrows rose.

The first few were what you'd expect from a survival kit: A multitool, matches, a lighter, a mirror, a wound dressing kit, flint and steel, space blanket, and a small roll of duct tape. All useful things if you didn't have a place to stay.

Then came the folding knife, lockpick set, and $500 of mortal money. Annabeth glanced over at Percy, who shrugged.

"So she taught me how to break into houses and safes, big deal."

Then, the MagLite and the small prism. Annabeth nodded.

"Impressive. She even knew about Iris messages."

"Iris messages?"

"Iris, goddess of the rainbow. If you have a drachma, you can use it to contact others. Your mom gave you a prism so that you could make the rainbow to send messages."

"Why not a cellphone?"

Annabeth grimaced. "Never use a cellphone if you are a demigod. Monsters can home in on the signal for some reason. Landlines are okay, but never a cellphone."

"Huh."

The last item in the bag, though, was greeted with silence on both their parts.

Sally Jackson had gotten her hands on a Celestial Bronze dagger, just small enough to be thrown. Wrapped around the sheath was a small piece of paper, slightly yellowed. In ink was a name in Ancient Greek.

**Διώκτης**

"Diόktis," Annabeth read, a chill running up her spine, "the Pursuer."

Beneath the name, Sally Jackson's neat script drew her attention.

_Never use this blade unless you truly intend to kill._

Percy pulled the blade out of its sheath just slightly, and then slammed it back in. Even from several feet away, Annabeth felt the _bloodlust_ radiating from the dagger.

"I think," Percy began, holding the dagger at arm's length, then dropping it back into the backpack, "That I'll leave this in the bag for now."

Annabeth nodded, helping him return the rest of the items to the bag, then held up her well-thumbed copy of _The Odyssey: Original Ancient Greek Version_.

Percy groaned.

* * *

As the sun went down, the conch horn blew, summoning all the campers to the pavilion for Capture the Flag. Annabeth joined her siblings in strapping on her armor. To any onlookers, the Athena cabin would have looked like a crack team of special forces getting ready for a parachute jump, checking each other's straps, sharpening weapons, and in general looking very professional.

This stood in stark contrast to the Hermes and Apollo Cabins, which looked like a mob of kids getting ready for a round of paintball. Annabeth suppressed the urge to sigh, knowing that even if they acted like five-year-olds most of the time, having both cabins was a massive advantage on the battlefield.

Apollo Cabin, aside from being the second largest, was filled with archers and healers, which was a massive advantage everywhere on the battlefield. Hermes campers were a mixed bag, considering the number of undetermined campers, but the actual children of the messenger god were incredibly fast, and made great forwards, which Annabeth was counting on for offense. The unclaimed campers were, essentially, a wildcard.

Especially their newest member.

Annabeth winced to herself, mostly out of guilt as to what she was about to do to Percy. It was no secret that the entirety of Ares Cabin loathed Percy's guts, and Clarisse wanted to hang said guts on her cabin's front door. They would almost certainly target him, and give Luke an opportunity to get his raiding party to the Ares Flag.

Annabeth had another motive for setting Percy up for Clarisse to knock down. In the years she had spent at Camp Half-Blood, she noticed that if a camper wasn't claimed at their first meal, the next most likely time to be claimed was during or just after a game of Capture the Flag. Even if that didn't happen, though, she might get a chance to see any godly talents that Percy might have inherited.

She glanced over to the Hermes table, where Luke was helping Percy pick out a sword and shield. Then, much to her surprise, Percy discarded both, and instead picked up a simple spear, just longer than he was tall.

Luke looked as surprised as she felt. She hadn't seen Percy use a spear before, and apparently neither had her longtime friend.

Then, Percy began spinning the spear around like he had been using it for years, and Annabeth almost tripped over thin air. He twirled it behind his back, switched hands, and then tossed it over his own head, before snatching it back down with his original hand. Several campers nearby were gawking, and Annabeth could understand why. Percy looked to be as good with a spear as he was with a sword.

She still wondered why.

They began marching towards the woods, and Percy jogged up alongside her, his spear slung against his shoulder.

"Hey," he began, an slight grin on his face.

She didn't respond right away, and he continued to talk.

"So, this is standard capture the flag, right? Just with weapons added."

Annabeth nodded once. She wasn't very much used to small talk before battle, and an awkward silence began to build. Percy seemed to notice, and reached for a topic.

"What did Chiron mean by magic items?"

This question Annabeth didn't mind answering. "Weapons, usually, but sometimes other things. The Apollo kids especially like to use arrows that do different things. They're on our side tonight, though, so don't worry about them. The Hephaestus kids have a nasty habit of setting their weapons on fire, though."

"Anything in Cabin Five?"

Should she tell him? Clarisse would definitely target him, but she also wanted to see what else Percy had. The best kind of test was one without contaminated data. Her conscience (because it definitely _wasn't_ the little part of her that was fond of Percy) protested. Clarisse's spear could be deadly if he wasn't ready for it. Eventually, she settled for a compromise.

"Watch out for Clarisse's spear. You don't want to get hit by it. Besides that, don't worry. Athena always has a plan."

Percy's face soured, and he slowed down, allowing her to move ahead of him. Just as she left earshot, she heard him mutter to himself.

"Glad you wanted me on your team."

* * *

Annabeth positioned Percy at the boundary creek, then ducked behind a tree to flip on her baseball cap.

Of all the things she owned, Episkótisi̱ was one of two things that she didn't think she could ever part with. Her mother had given the hat to her on her twelfth birthday, and it had instantly replaced diamonds as her inanimate best friend.

Everyone else in her cabin was jealous of it, too. Malcolm had grumbled about it for a while, until the next week's Capture the Flag, when she had singlehandedly walked past enemy lines wearing the cap, swiped the unguarded flag, and run it back across the line without being noticed.

Her siblings changed their tune after that.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Annabeth promptly crossed the border, silently setting up a line of nearly invisible wire on the ground in an arc around where Percy stood. A recent commission from her brother to the Hephaestus Cabin, the wire was connected to a magical bracelet on her wrist, which would vibrate whenever someone stepped on the wire.

Then she retreated far enough away that she wouldn't be noticed, and settled against a tree to watch for any red campers.

The conch horn blew, and she watched as several allies darted forward into enemy territory, and the sound of metal clashing and shouts filtered through the trees, and then rapidly faded off towards the west.

Annabeth smiled slightly. Malcolm was doing his job, starting the first diversion, which would hopefully tie up most of the other team.

A horde of screaming Hermes campers tended to do that. Doubly so if they were directed by her second-in-command.

Then, footsteps. At least three, five at most.

Annabeth peered around the tree.

Slowly padding into the other side of the clearing were three red campers. All of them children of Demeter.

Not too much of a challenge.

Her bracelet began jangling against her wrist, and all three of her opponents spun towards the sound of vibrations. Annabeth winced, and threw off her invisibility cap.

To their credit, the Demeter girls only hesitated a few seconds before going on the attack. Yet, even as they charged forward, Annabeth did not draw her dagger. Her eyes narrowed, and her vision greyed out. In her head, she could see what her opponents were about to do.

And knew exactly how to counter it.

_Center enemy is gripping sword too lightly and too high. First strike will be to underside of wrist. Sword will dislodge, grab as it falls. Plant right leg behind, sweep and shove into right enemy. Turn, block panicked slash from left enemy, reply with elbow to the diaphragm._

_First opponent eliminated. While center and right opponents attempt to recover, stun with pommel of stolen sword. _

_Fight concluded._

Color rushed back, and Annabeth took a single step forward…and then blurred. Her right hand flew upward, catching the center red camper on their downward swing. She yelped in pain, and the sword she was carrying flew from her limp hand. With reflexes that would make a ninja green with envy, Annabeth snatched the sword out of the air with her free hand, and, at the same time, planted her foot behind the center camper. A quick, hard push, and she tumbled into the right camper, knocking both of them to the ground.

Annabeth spun in place, just in time to deflect the wild swing from the remaining upright camper. Then, Annabeth took a single quick step with her left foot, slamming her elbow into the center of the camper's body, just below the ribs. The camper dropped to the ground, gasping and clutching her stomach.

Not wasting a single moment, the daughter of Athena turned back to her other two opponents, who were still trying to get off the ground. Two quick blows with the back of her sword, and they were down for the count.

Annabeth checked her watch.

"Seven seconds. I've gotten slower."

Then her ears picked up the sound of Clarisse's voice.

"CREAM THE PUNK!"

She swore under her breath, then spun on her heel and sprinted back towards where Percy was, throwing her cap back on as she went.

* * *

She arrived just in time to see the haft of Percy's spear slam into an Ares camper's forehead. The guy dropped like a bag of rocks, joining one of his brothers on the ground. In the same instant, though, another one of the Ares campers stepped in through the hole in Percy's defense, and scored a deep slash along Percy's upper arm. A second later, Clarisse's spear jabbed into Percy's gut, skidding along his armor. The electricity, though, was unhampered by the plate, and the unclaimed camper jerked violently, and got a kick to the chest from yet another Ares camper.

Percy fell backward. Annabeth sucked in a guilty breath as she watched the Ares campers circle around him. Intellectually, she knew that this was probably going to happen, but that didn't stop the feeling of guilt when she watched it happen.

"If you're planning on getting the flag, then why the hell are you all still here?" Percy spat out through gritted teeth, pulling himself back up with his spear.

Annabeth's (invisible) eyebrows rose. _Smart. He's trying to divide up their forces, send a few onward so that the defensive players will take care of them._

Ares #1 sneered. "See, though, we don't care about the flag. We care about the stupid punk who make our cabin look bad."

Percy's lips pulled back in a toothy grin that didn't reach his eyes. "So which of you is that poor shmuck?"

Annabeth winced. Wrong answer.

Ares #2 took a step forward, shoving Percy into the stream, then grabbed him by the hair.

"Give the bigshot a haircut!" Clarisse bellowed, a wicked grin on her face.

Then, Percy pulled another stunt that reunited Annabeth's jaw with the ground. He arched backwards, his hands finding purchase on the straps of Ares #2's armor, then flipped the startled demigod over his head and into the stream. In an eyeblink, Percy was back on his feet, almost absentmindedly finishing off Ares #2 with a swift kick to the temple. His hand found his spear, and then the black-haired half-blood took a stance, the spear held out at the ready.

Ares #1 and #3 both approached slowly, wary now of Percy's skill. It proved pointless, as instead of waiting for them to attack, Percy took a quick step forward, then dropped, swinging the spear by its very end at Ares #3's knees. The son of the war god leapt over it, but was completely unprepared for Percy to slide underneath and past him mid-jump, then spring up behind him.

He never even saw the swing of the spear that knocked him out.

Even as the limp body of Ares #3 hit the ground, Percy was blurring forward towards Ares #1, who actually looked panicked now. A rapid flurry of stabs with the spear demolished the demigod's defenses, and an almost-casual spin in one hand slammed the base of the spear up into his chin.

By now, Ares #4 looked downright terrified. His sister, on the other hand, just looked angrier. Bellowing a war-cry, she hefted her electric spear and charged. (3 Coulombs, to be precise)

Percy didn't even bat an eyelash. Instead, his spear spun in one hand, catching and deflecting the tip of her spear into the earth to one side. His right foot shot upward, then back down onto the spear's shaft, a foot below the head. Before Clarisse had a chance to react, though, Percy followed through with a back kick that sent Clarisse flying into a tree.

A few seconds of stunned silence later, Annabeth heard the sound of battle nearing, doubtlessly Luke's raiding party. Her suspicions were confirmed when Luke stormed into the creek's clearing, his retreat covered by his teammates.

"A trick," Clarisse coughed out. "It was a trick."

She struggled back to her feet, and tried to head off Luke before he could reach the stream, but before she could take more than a few steps, the Hermes counselor splashed across the boundary, to the triumphant cheers of the blue campers.

Annabeth smiled in satisfaction as the banner shimmered and became an image of a caduceus, then made her way over to where Percy was watching the campers converge on the stream.

"Not bad, Percy."

The half-blood turned toward her, and she took off the cap. "Where in Hades did you learn to fight like that?" She omitted the fact that she had been watching his duel with Luke.

Percy didn't answer, instead fixing her with a baleful stare.

"Good plan, Annabeth. Set me up as bait to distract Clarisse, while Luke takes advantage of the opening."

She shrugged. It had worked, hadn't it? "Athena always has a plan."

"Yeah," he said quietly, "You had it all figured out."

The blond girl shifted a little under his stare. She had expected anger, even bitterness, but the only emotion she could pick up in his stare was _disappointment_, like she had failed an easy, but important test.

Then, her eyes flicked to his arm, where the Ares camper had scored a deep slash. Now, though, it was just a faint white line, as if he had received it weeks ago.

"What's this?"

"Sword cut."

"No, it _was_ a sword cut. Look at it now."

Percy looked as confused as she had felt the whole week. Annabeth glanced down, noticing he was still standing in the stream. A sinking feeling manifested in the pit of her stomach. Oh no.

"Percy, get out of the water."

"Huh?"

She dragged him out, not giving him time to argue. Immediately, he stumbled, tiredness becoming evident across his face. Annabeth's stomach dropped into her shoes.

"Oh, Styx. This isn't good. I thought… why couldn't it have been Zeus?"

Percy still looked bewildered. "What are you-?"

His question was interrupted by a trio of bloodcurdling howls from the woods only a few yards away. Chiron shouted an alert, and the campers nearest them braced themselves. Annabeth spun, and her face paled. On the rocks above them were three great black dogs, eyes glowing red as coals. The two on either side were huge in their own right, nearly the size of a rhinoceros, but the one in the middle was truly massive, bigger than a tank.

Hellhounds. And all three of them were looking straight at Percy.

Annabeth tried to tell him to run, but the three hounds leapt at him before she could finish. Distantly, she heard the sound of Chiron and the Apollo campers opening fire with their bows, and arrows found all three of the demonic canines. The smaller two yelped in surprise just before they turned into yellow dust, but the large one shrugged off the arrows in its back like they were nothing. Its leap ended with its front paws landing on Percy's chest, knocking him to the ground. Annabeth hearing a brief shearing sound, and realized with a sick feeling that it was the sound of the hellhound's claws slicing right through Percy's armor.

The boy underneath the massive dog gave a strangled half-yell, even as another score of arrows slammed into the beast's hide. The hellhound's jaw reared back, fangs as long as swords bared, then surged down at the trapped Percy. Someone screamed…

Annabeth opened eyes she hadn't even realized she had closed, to see the monster's maw stopped inches from Percy's head. The only thing keeping it from closing those last few inches was Percy's arm, clutching the shattered point of Clarisse's spear, digging into the roof of its mouth.

The boy smiled grimly, and stared the hellhound down. Then, he thrust the speartip home, and snapped off the last few inches of shaft.

"Smile, you son of a -!"

The spear tip exploded in a storm of crimson, completely engulfing the hellhound and blinding the onlookers.

The vermillion light faded, revealing the now-headless body of the hellhound slumped sideways on the grass, Percy still on his back next to it. With a groan, he sat up, his gaze tracking to the massive black corpse.

"Hellhounds from the Fields of Punishment." Annabeth managed to finally get past the shock and stepped over to help Percy up.

"Not simply a hellhound, though," Chiron replied, his face tight. "That is an Elder Hound. Even worse than a hellhound."

"How did…?"

"Someone in this camp summoned it."

In the grim silence that followed, Annabeth's eyes caught on Percy's chest, and she almost gasped.

Along the front of Percy's chest were a line of puncture wounds, staining blood onto his shirt.

"Percy, you're wounded."

"I'm fi – oh." Percy's protest stopped when he glanced down at his own torso. "Yes. This could be a problem."

Before anyone started to panic, though, Annabeth grabbed Percy's shoulder and yanked him into the stream.

"Chiron, look at this."

Everyone, including Percy, watched as the cuts sealed up, but the majority of the camp's attention quickly diverted itself from the fast-healing wounds to the spot above Percy's head. Though she had already realized it, Annabeth joined them in staring at the glowing green sigil of a trident.

Gods curse it, why did it have to be Poseidon?

Percy looked at them for a moment, bewildered, before glancing back down at the stream and his still-healing wounds. The light of realization appeared in his eyes, and Annabeth knew, even before Percy looked up at the symbol, that he had figured it out. Percy turned to Chiron, sea-green eyes (the clues had been there the whole time!)

"My father." It was a statement, not a question. All around them, campers began to kneel. Chiron nodded gravely.

"Poseidon. Earthshaker. Stormbringer. Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God."

* * *

**CracktheSkye presents: The Chase and Jackson Monster Corner!**

"Hello everyone, I'm Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena."

"And I'm Sally Jackson, Percy's mother. This segment is a new experiment for us, where we'll discuss any monsters that may have come up recently, to give you a better idea of just what the heroes are up against."

"I thought it was because Skye didn't like having such a short chapter and decided to leng–"

"Our _first _monster is an original addition to the Rickverse, the Elder Hound. This bad boy– "

"Or girl."

"*Ahem* or _girl_ is the bigger, nastier version of the standard model hellhound."

"They're actually normal hellhounds that have survived long enough to become unique among their kind. This means that most Elder Hounds are at least a few centuries old. Despite their age, they have strength and speed well beyond that of normal hellhounds."

"If you can call a hellhound normal."

"Now who's interrupting? Anyway, like every other hellhound, Elder Hounds can shadow travel , but with far greater range and accuracy than their smaller brethren."

"And speaking of smaller, size is probably the best way to tell an Elder Hound. Normal hellhounds are generally the size and weight of a moderately-sized rhinoceros at their largest. Elder Hounds, on the other hand, are generally the size and weight of an M1 Abrams Main Battle Tank. Let me tell you, seeing one hiding in the trees of Central Park on your morning run will wake you up _real _quick. They're tough little puppies, too."

"Yes, one of the Elder Hound's biggest advantages is their incredible durability. Unlike most monsters, it takes more than a Celestial Bronze arrow to kill one. Their inherent life-force means that like the Minotaur and similar monsters, it takes a lethal blow to heal one."

"I'll say! What's worse, the stupid dogs heal ridiculously fast, so the only things that will kill them for sure are nearly instant deathblows."

"So what would you say is the best way to kill one?"

"Shove your shotgun into its mouth and pull the trigger. Then reload and do it again."

"Um…I meant more along the lines of strategy. If you saw this monster on your morning run, what should you do?"

"Well, that's the thing, though. If you can see the Elder Hound, it's probably too late, because the hellhounds behind are already pouncing."

"Ah, that's right. Much like the Velociraptors of Jurassic Park fame, an Elder Hound's deadliest attribute is not its size or strength, but its intelligence. Surviving for centuries or even millennia in Tartarus and the Fields of Punishment lends incredible cunning to those who accomplish it. Elder Hounds have displayed near-human level intellect, and the capability to formulate complex plans and solve problems in much the same way we do."

"The gigantic mutts are never alone, either. There's always at least a hellhound or two trailing behind."

"Yes, the final ability of Elder Hounds, which only become more deadly when combined with their intellect, is their command over common hellhounds. Being the pinnacle of the hellhound race, with the exception of Cerberus, Elder Hounds are essentially Alphas in the eyes of normal hellhounds. As such, they can be found leading packs thirty strong."

"And even when you beat them, you don't get anything out of it. No spoils of war, no spare armor, no extra weapons. It's patently unfair."

"Why are you waving your shotgun around!?"

"The stupid author didn't even spend the time coming up with a spoil of war for a monster like this! It's like he's deliberately trying to make life difficult for me! And now my son doesn't even get a couple of claws to make a cool necklace out of!"

"Um…that's all the time we have for today, folks! Be sure to tune in next time for another exciting and informative 'Monster Corner!'"

"I'm watching you, Skye!"

"And in the next chapter: The Beginning of the Quest!"

* * *

**Hey-o, everybody! Well, I actually managed to get this chapter out with relative speed since the last time I published…sort of? Just remember, this story **_**is **_**of lowest priority, despite how much fun it is to write.**

**It's also a short chapter, but then, there was only so much I could do from Annabeth's perspective. The next part…well, Thalia likes writing from Percy's perspective the best. It's easier on the exposition, mostly. Also, the sarcastic side comments make more sense coming from him. **

**On the chapter: Yeah, pretty much all the half-bloods get power-ups. Annabeth's relationship with Malcolm is based on real-life sibling relationships consisting of a lifetime of empirical data. Athena would be proud. Annabeth is also semi-tsundere. Not excessively, but enough. I always thought that Ricky made her borderline tsun-tsun half the time anyway. The letter was **_**hard **_**to write, and I actually had to cut a previous version because it was too sad, and Way!Sally isn't that weepy. Percy's stand at the creek was also very fun to write, mainly because I just got hooked on Fate/Zero. Lancer is awesome. By the way, Episkótisi̱ is Greek for "Obscuration", a good name for an invisibility cap if I do say so myself.**

**Anyway, I'm going on vacation next week for two weeks, and beyond that I have to get ready for college and such, so life's going to get busy. Again.**

**Review, or I'll sic my hellhounds on you. Grr.**

**Αντίο, ****φίλοι!**

**CracktheSkye**


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